


Coins of Childhoood

by JoyfullyDreadful



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Hallucinations, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyfullyDreadful/pseuds/JoyfullyDreadful
Summary: “Can’t you see it?” he whispers, holding his hands up for everyone to see. The words get the attention of Brian and Jimmy, who pause their friendly bickering to look over at him, and he can see the concern that fills their eyes.“See what, Will?”“The blood” he replies, voice small, smaller than anyone in that room has ever heard it.Jack Crawford steps closer then, closing a hand on his shoulder “Will, there isn’t any blood here.”
Kudos: 23





	Coins of Childhoood

There’s blood on his hands. Blood he can’t remember the origin of. It’s spilling over his hands, an eternal fountain that will never stop flowing. He looks in the mirror and it’s then he notices that its not just his hands over which the blood flows. It spills over his head, coating his body in its sickening smell, it gets in his mouth and all he can taste is metal. It reminds him of when he was a small child and he would put coins in his mouth, wanting to see what they tasted like. He did things like that a lot as a child.

It’s flowing from the walls now, flooding in from the place where it meets the ceiling. It’s dripping down the walls at a steady pace, slowly beginning to fill the room. It reminds him of a glass of sand, the ones used to tell time, and he’s on the bottom of it. He looks over to his side and he knows the cause of it. The stag is back, watching him with its ever knowing eyes from the corner of the room. 

He knows the stag isn’t real. He isn’t so sure about the blood. He can feel it on his body, and it just feels so _real._ He can feel it sliding down his body, can feel it soaking up his legs as the blood continues to spill into the room and rise. He wouldn’t be surprised if he drowned here. It would be funny, he thinks, to be drowned by a creation of his mind. But, then again, he still isn’t sure how real the blood it. He thinks it would be funny is he drowned by real blood too. It would be quite poetic.

“Will” a voice is calling for him. He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to. He looks to the stag in the corner of the room, no longer the stag, and now the dark humanoid figure with antlers that seems to taunt him at any given chance. He watches it open its mouth and he hears a “Will” spill out of it again, but somehow the voice is different than before. It feels more real, more solid despite the figure from which it comes. “ **Will”** calls the voice for a final time and when he looks back to the corner the figure is gone, replaced instead by Jack Crawford

The blood, however, is a different story. He can still see it, flowing from the walls, can feel it flooding over his body and can taste it in his mouth, just like the coins of this childhood. He looks around and he can see that there isn’t blood on them, except for on their feet from where it continues to fill the room. They’re in the autopsy room, examining a case, and Brian and Jimmy seem unbothered by the thick liquid that soaks up their legs, too enamored with the body they’re dissecting to notice.

“Will, are you alright?” repeats the voice, who this time he knows belongs to Jack Crawford.

“Can’t you see it?” he whispers, holding his hands up for everyone to see. The words get the attention of Brian and Jimmy, who pause their friendly bickering to look over at him, and he can see the concern that fills their eyes.

“See what, Will?”

“The blood” he replies, voice small, smaller than anyone in that room has ever heard it.

Jack Crawford steps closer then, closing a hand on his shoulder “Will, there isn’t any blood here.”

He blinks his eyes and realizes the man is right. The blood is gone now, the only evidence that it had ever been there being the metallic taste in his mouth. It tastes like the coins of his childhood. “Sorry, I guess I just got lost there for a moment.”

The statement doesn’t seem to please the other men in the room at all. If anything, it just makes them more nervous. “Will, buddy, are you sure you’re okay to be back at work ?” asks Jimmy.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay to be here, we have a killer to catch after all,” he clears his throat, throwing them a smile that screams for help, “Excuse me for a moment,”

He gets up and makes his way towards the bathroom, walking with purpose until he stands in front of a mirror. Once he looks in it, he sees the dark figure standing behind him again. He throws water on his face, taking deep gasping breaths, allowing a solitary tear to slide down his face in the disguise of the water. As he stands there, he can still taste the blood in his mouth, and he laughs a little. 

He stares again into the mirror, making eye contact with the figure behind him. The blood returns then, sliding down the walls and spilling over his body. He should be used to this by now, he thinks. The blood shows up often enough, an awful reminder of the things he has done in his life, a reminder of the one man who he’s never been able to catch. He closes his eyes and allows it to _drip, drip, drip_ over him.

It tastes like the coins of his childhood. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm on a bit of a Hannibal trip right now so expect lots of Hannibal works. Also I was really excited about this piece bc lord knows I love some psychological torment.
> 
> As always, comments and Kudos are appreciated !!
> 
> Be sure to check out my [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/) , where requests are always open !


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